


hoping this cold blue water scrubs me clean and spits me out again (liam/ziam)

by ohsaehun



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Liam Death, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Terminal Illnesses, Ziam AU, not my work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 21:19:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5142797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohsaehun/pseuds/ohsaehun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stay," Zayn whispers desperately, pressing his lips to Liams' temple like he can somehow ease the pain that's blooming there, but he can't make the pain stop and no matter how hard he tries he can't make Liam stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hoping this cold blue water scrubs me clean and spits me out again (liam/ziam)

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my work. All I did was revise it to make it a ziam fic. The original larry fic is by phantasmagoria (whiteteethteen). You can reach her on her tumblr @ tomlintokes and her twitter @phantasmcgoria.
> 
> Yes, I have permission from the author to post this. (You can check her twitter)
> 
> My twitter: @halaljp

It starts with the headaches.

Which isn't  _so_ unusual, really — they're on break, technically, but it's still weeks on end of being shuttled from one place to another with interviewers gabbing in their ears, repeating the same goddamned questions over and over and fucking  _over_  and it's so exhausting Liam thinks he might explode if one more person asks how his relationship is going.

Fine, he answers. Great, even. It really is. Just not with Sophia.

They don't need to know that, though.

And they don't, but they still keep asking, and three weeks into promo Liam truly feels like his head is going to explode, like his brain is pulsing right against his skull. It's horrible and no matter how many cigarettes he smokes or pain pills and glasses of water and tea he swallows it doesn't let up; the pain subsides some but never truly goes away.

It's frustrating, but not alarming. Not yet. 

 

 

 _Home_ , Liam thinks.  _Home_. He just can't wait to get home, where he can kick off his jeans and curl up under the covers and close his eyes and sleep for an hour or maybe ten until his brain is fully rested and not feeling like it's about to burst through his skull. But for now he's trapped in the back of a car with Zayn and a driver who apparently doesn't understand that silence is golden.

If he were in a better mood, Liam might just engage him in conversation, talking excitedly and laughing at his poor excuses for jokes but right now he's just not in the mood, and Zayn notices. Of course he does. Zayn notices everything. 

"Your head again, hm?" Zayn mumbles, lips pressed to Liam' temple. Liam just nods weakly, making a soft whining noise and cuddling into Zayn's side. His head is still throbbing, but with his face buried in Zayn's stupid, expensive leather jacket, it's a little better because all he can smell is Zayn, all warm and familiar and  _home_. God, he can't wait to get home. 

 

They arrive at their flat just as Liam has started dozing. Zayn thanks the driver, quick and polite - always so professional, he is - before looping a hand over Liam' shoulder and tugging him towards the door, urging him to be quick. Nobody knows where  _this_  flat is, but there's always been the chance of someone catching sight of them and following them home. Their drivers are usually good about making sure they aren't followed, looping around the neighborhood until any hangers-on are hopelessly confused, but Zayn likes to be sure, anyway.

Liam toes off his shoes as soon as he's through the front door, making a beeline for the couch and burying his face in a terribly tacky and uncomfortable decorative pillow. He feels the couch dip slightly under Zayn's weight as he sits down next to him, warm hand on his back, smoothing down his shirt and Liam feels all the tension leave his body, turning to give Zayn a grateful smile.

Zayn grins back, all dimples and teeth, patting his lap invitingly and Liam loves him so much he could die as he crawls over and rests his head in Zayn's warm lap. Zayn's hands are on him before he's even gotten settled, fingers stroking through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly. Liam hums appreciatively, nuzzling into Zayn's hand. 

"Good, boo?" Zayn asks gently, fingers pressing lightly on his temple and Liam manages a soft  _uh-huh_  before he drifts off, wrapped up in Zayn's touch and scent and it almost scares him to think he'll never be as happy as he is when he's in Zayn's arms. 

 

 

When he wakes up, the sky outside the window is dark, his head is still in Zayn's lap,  _The Notebook_  is playing on the television, and he has to puke.

It's, like. His head is throbbing, pain no longer dull but sharp and clawing at every inch of him, and he can feel it, can feel it crawling up his throat and he doesn't even have time to give Zayn a fair warning before he jerks himself away, staggering towards the hallway bathroom and he knows he won't make it to the toilet so he aims for the sink, instead, spewing breakfast and lunch and the really good iced tea he'd been drinking in the car into the pretty marble sink with the shiny silver faucet. 

He barely has time to recover before he hears Zayn's footsteps approaching, socked feet on carpet and then a small hand is on his back, heat seeping through his shirt and coming to curl around his spine like a napping cat. 

"Hey," Zayn says gently, moving closer so his hip is bumping Liam' waist, smoothing back the sweaty fringe from Liam' forehead and Liam is still gasping, out of breath, knuckles white as he clutches the edge of the counter. The pain is a little better now, reduced to a dull ache, like his head is being very,  _very_  slowly squeezed by a vice instead of, say, crushed under the weight of an anvil. "Babe," he tries again, fingers gently tugging at his bicep. "What can I do?"

 

When he can finally breathe again, nausea still coming and going in waves, Liam croaks out, "Water. Please." Zayn is nodding, out the door and clomping on down the hall towards the kitchen before Liam can press his back against the wall, sliding to sit on the cool tiled floor. It feels wonderful against his burning skin and he shifts so he can lay down, pressing his temple and he has to bite back a groan of relief, eyes slipping shut. It's so  _nice_. It'd probably be nicer if it weren't the tile in their guest bathroom, but he's going to take what he can get.

He's so lost in the feeling of the freezing tiles soothing his throbbing head that he doesn't even Zayn coming back down the hallway until he's at Liam' side, panic-stricken voice slicing through the quiet like a knife and Liam jerks up, only to find Zayn with one hand clutching a glass of ice water, the other pressed over his chest like he's nearly had a heart attack.

"Sorry," Liam mumbles, embarrassed, but not too embarrassed to pry the glass from Zayn's hand and take an almost painfully large gulp of water. "Just resting. Felt nice on my head."

Zayn's eyes are wide, still coming down from the fright of finding his boyfriend lying motionless on the bathroom floor, but he cracks a tiny smile anyway. "You goof," he mutters, fingers smoothing across Liam' forehead. Checking for a fever, Liam realizes, practically swooning at the gesture. 

"You don't feel warm," Zayn says finally, standing and extending a hand to Liam, pulling him up and promptly sweeping him off his feet, gathering him up in his arms. 

"Zayn," he protests weakly, slamming his fists against Zayn's chest in vain. "Let me down."

Zayn just grins, that little shit, and carries him up the stairs, depositing him gently onto their shared bed like he's precious cargo before crawling onto the bed next to him, lying on his belly and kicking his legs up, crossing and uncrossing them like a child. It's ridiculously endearing and Liam kind of wants to kiss him.

"Zayn," Liam repeats, rolling over so as to get some distance from his favorite boy in the world. "'M sick. Gonna get you all germy."

Zayn chuckles fondly, rolling over so he's just as close to Liam as when he started. "Don't care. Gonna take care of you, boo." He rests a warm hand on Liam' belly and his stomach flutters when he realizes yet again just how  _small_ Zayn's hands are, covering barely half of his torso. Zayn notices too, murmuring a fond, "So big. My little, big Lima."

And, yeah. Liam could get used to this. 

 

 

What he hasn't gotten used to, however, is the constant vomiting. Emphasis on  _constant_. It's been just over a week since he first emptied the contents of his stomach into the sink in the downstairs bathroom, but it's just getting worse. It feels like every time he's puked his guts and then some into the toilet there's another brick weighing down his stomach, bile burning his throat. Eventually, he gives in and drags a pillow and blanket into the bathroom he shares with Zayn and camps out in the tub.

When Zayn finds him there, cocooned in blankets in the porcelain tub, half-asleep and drooling just a bit, he does two things. First, he laughs. Second, he scoops Liam up and before Liam can even protest he's in the fucking doctor's office with Zayn's fingers tracing patterns on the back of his hand, feeling more nauseous than he ever did in his little bath fort. 

But it's nothing. The doctor checks his vitals, asks about his symptoms, tells him to get lots of rest, drink lots of fluids and take some Advil. That's it.

Liam' glare on the way home nearly burns a hole in the back of Zayn's head.

 

It's been four days of following the doctor's orders to an exact t, but the pain is Liam' head is worse than ever, like his brain is going to come oozing out his ears any second. Zayn nearly laughs till he cries at the analogy, but still follows the outburst with a, "Sorry, baby. Here, let me help," and resumes massaging Liam' scalp with gentle fingers. It helps more than Liam cares to admit, but the second Zayn's fingers are gone the pain seems to triple, so extreme at times he sees stars. 

"Gonna make you another doctor's appointment in the morning," Zayn mumbles later that evening when they're curled up under the covers, seeing how long they can procrastinate until Zayn has to go make them something to eat. "Hate seeing you like this."

"Me too," Liam grumbles, burying his face in a pillow and trying to ignore the tears prickling at his eyes because it fucking  _hurts_ , dammit, and no matter how much Tylenol he swallows it never ceases and he's never experienced pain this bad for such an extended period of time and he just wants it to stop.

"Want me to make dinner now?" Zayn suggests, propping himself up on his elbows, hair falling into his eyes and the sight makes Liam bite back a grin, shaking his head to the best of his ability without further upsetting his pounding head. 

"In a little bit," he says, knocking Zayn's elbows out from underneath him so Zayn falls back onto the bed with a quiet  _oof_. "Just stay here a while."

 _A while_  turns out to be something like half an hour in which Liam drifts in and out of consciousness while Zayn cuddles him from behind. Then, without warning he's saying, "Gonna make dinner now, boo," and before Liam can protest he's gone and Liam is cold and alone.

The pain in his head is still very much present, but has let up a bit, so naturally he gets up very, very slowly and follows Zayn downstairs to the kitchen where he's rattling around in the cupboard, looking for something. His face lights up adorably when he finds the gleaming silver spot he's apparently been looking for, setting it in the stove and fiddling with the knobs before becoming aware of Liam' presence.

"You should rest," he says simply, and it should sound demanding but this is Zayn and it ends up sounding more like a suggestion. Liam shakes his head — oops, too fast, wincing as a fresh bolt of pain strikes his skull and he stumbles forward into Zayn's embrace.

"Wanna stay with you and pick up on your magnificent culinary skills," he mumbles into Zayn's shirt, lower lip jutting out in a pout and he knows Zayn can't say no to that.

He's right. Zayn grins, always so fond, reaching to absently swipe a few stray strands of hair from his face. "Okay. Right now this culinary master needs to take a wee, so." He gives Liam a terribly goofy, endearing look before trotting off awkwardly down the hall, and Liam can't help the giggle that escapes his lips because he  _loves_  Zayn, can't imagine ever loving anyone half as much as he loves Zayn.

Feeling cheeky, he peers into the pot on the stove and, finding it empty, leans against the counter, striking a ridiculous pose and waiting for Zayn to return.

 

 

It's footsteps coming down the hall and the giddy, nervous feeling he gets around Zayn even after all this time and he's expecting Zayn to chuckle something like  _You're ridiculous_  and maybe even let Liam fuck him against the wall if he's lucky, which he almost always is.

Except not this time, because Zayn's eyes are warm and friendly but upon further inspection go wide with what Liam identifies as panic; later, he realizes maybe it was fear.

" _Liam!_ " And just like that Zayn is across the room, yanking him away from the stove and shoving his left hand under the tap, and,  _oh_. The skin of his palm is puckered and colored an angry pink. That's usually a thing somebody would notice, Liam notes mentally, pursing his lips with his brow furrowing in confusion. Even now, it should hurt, but it doesn't. Not really. A little bit, but the pain is so distant it's hard to tell if it even belongs to him. 

Zayn is quiet as he holds Liam' hand under the water for what seems like days but is most likely just a few minutes, eyes downcast and this stupid look of concern on his face that kind of makes Liam want to cry but all he can do it stare at his rapidly reddening hand and wonder why he didn't feel it — surely he should have felt  _something_ , right? It's surprising, because Liam certainly isn't known for his high pain tolerance and even someone like Zayn who could probably be whipped across his bare back and tread on with his tongue between his teeth would surely  _notice_ something like that.

After a few minutes, Zayn turns off the tap. "Stay here," he instructs Liam, voice soft but firm, and the second he leaves the room Liam has his back pressed against the cabinets, feeling his legs give out as he sinks to the tile, staring in awe at the blistering burn on his hand. This is a dream. It has to be a dream. He doesn't know what's happening and he's not so much afraid as he is completely bewildered. It feels suddenly like he's trying to look at the world through a haze.

Zayn returns holding gauze bandages that Liam didn't even know they had, but with a tiny smirk on his face he realizes Zayn must have an entire first aid kit stashed somewhere, just in case. He's painfully gentle, crouching down and wrapping around the burn gently, from Liam' wrist to his knuckles, secure but not tight enough to irritate the skin there. Once he's done, he cuts off the excess and places it on the counter, eyes still trained on Liam' face.

"Why did you do that?" he asks simply, voice less suspicious and more concerned.

Liam frowns, blinking at him. "Do what?"

"You burned yourself, love." 

"Oh," Liam laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood because Zayn thinks he did it on _purpose_. "No, I just...didn't notice."

Zayn cocks his head a little, clearly confused. "What do you mean you didn't notice?"

Liam doesn't know how to explain, because the more he thinks about it the crazier it sounds. "I didn't notice. I didn't  _feel_ it. I didn't even realize it was happening until you pulled me away." He chews his lip, and as he watches Zayn's face darken, he almost wishes he  _had_  done it on purpose. 

 

 

Zayn drags him kicking and screaming to the hospital after that. Not just the regular, ho-hum doctor's office, but the goddamned  _ER_  and Liam has never been more embarrassed, because he's just tired and under the weather and Zayn is making a big fuss out nothing and oh,  _god,_  he hates needles and hospitals and doctors, hates people touching him and pressing cold metal to his skin and making him breathe in out in out so consciously, and by the time it's his turn to be checked he's nearly in tears.

The nurse takes his blood pressure and heart rate and temperature and she doesn't  _look_  worried, not in the slightest, which only further confirms for Liam what he already knows; he's fine, just ill. 

It's all fine and dandy, as Liam explains with crossed arms the headaches and the vomiting and the doctor (who identified himself as  _Dr. Ben Allen_ but Liam doesn't care because all doctors are the same) nods, posture loose and open as he jots down notes on a clipboard. He seems about ready to prescribe Liam some painkillers and a few days of bed rest and lots of fluids when Zayn interrupts, rather rudely if Liam has a say. 

"The burn," Zayn says simply, eyes dark and he's not looking at Liam but at the floor, playing absentmindedly with the rings on his fingers. "You forgot about the burn."

Liam shoots him a glare, suddenly all too aware of the gauze wrapped around his hand and he fights the urge to hide it behind his back.

The doctor raises his eyebrows at Liam. "What burn?"

Liam holds out his wrapped hand miserably, wrist limp and he fucking hates Zayn, he really does. He just wants to go home and this is undoubtedly going to keep them here at least another twenty minutes. "Burned my hand on the stove. No big deal."

Zayn's head snaps up. "But you didn't  _feel_ it. That's a big deal. Isn't it?" He turns towards the doctor, eyes wide and pleading and Liam feels guilty for ever being angry at somebody so lovely and concerned for his well-being, huffing out a sigh. 

The doctor looks confused, so Liam quickly jumps in to explain before Zayn can. "I was leaning against the stove and I guess it was burning my hand and I didn't notice until Zayn said something and I saw it. Like, it didn't hurt," he explains, feeling his gut sink because there's  _something_ wrong with him, because who the hell doesn't feel something like that? 

No. He's tired. Just tired and overworked and in need of a really long rest.

The doctor nods, eyes looking a little clouded over, like he's deep in thought. "I'm going to have a nurse come in and go through a few quick neurological tests with you. Nothing fancy, just the stuff you used to do in the nurse's office in secondary school." His smile is warm, comforting, and Liam nods, sighing. He's so  _tired_ , and it's late and he just wants to cuddle up with Zayn under the covers and maybe watch late-night cartoons until he falls asleep.

 So the nurse comes in and the doctor was right, it  _is_ exactly what they used to do in secondary school every year or so. She's friendly and chipper, like she's had too much caffeine (she must have to, with a job like this, Liam thinks bitterly). He has to do stupid things like follow her finger with his eyes and walk across the room, heel-to-toe in a straight line and he feels so stupid and childish with Zayn sitting in a chair in the corner, watching him. 

 Finally, the nurse thanks him and pats him gingerly on the back and then she's gone and  _finally_ Dr. Allen comes back, just as Liam is sure he's going to pass out on the linoleum. 

Dr. Allen is still smiling, but this time it's small and tight and Liam feels a rush of panic before forcing himself to think rationally. The doctor is probably tired, too. That's why. Nothing's wrong. He's okay. He gets to go home now and tomorrow he'll wake up, warm in Zayn's arms and have Zayn make him pancakes, maybe, if his stomach will let him.

It's quiet for almost a full minute, the only sound coming from the soft, constant  _tick tick tick_  of the clock mounted on the wall by the door.

"I'd like to run a few tests," he says finally. "Just standard procedure. An MRI and a CT scan, most likely. They won't take long, I assure you, and then you can be on your way."

"Fine. Just wanna get it over with," Liam snaps. He's pouting now, truly a petulant child with eyes glistening with tears because he's so damn  _tired_.

Dr. Allen looks a little taken aback by Liam' sharp response, but nods. "Alright, then. Let's get on with it."

 

 "The results of the tests will take a couple of days at most," Dr. Allen says when they're all  _finally_  done, and Liam is truly half asleep. "We'll let you know."

Liam is too sleepy to say anything, so Zayn steps in for him, shaking his hand firmly. "Thank you, Doctor." 

Tired as he is, Liam doesn't miss the way Zayn's eyes flicker towards him, the darkest he's ever seen them and burning wild with fear.

They never actually use the word  _cancer._ Or maybe they do, but that isn't until they've already used the word  _glioblastoma, grade four_ which is somehow a thousand times worse as they stare blankly at the light box on the wall, displaying Liam' MRI results and he's certainly no expert but the white mass invading his frontal lobe isn't  _supposed_ to be there and his entire body is shaking, mind racing because it all makes sense.  _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Liam doesn't even have time to react before Zayn is blurting out a shaky, "So what are the options?" His hand tightens instinctively around Liam'. 

Not many, it turns out, because Liam has cancer and it's of the incurable, brain-eating variety and fuck, when did it get so cold in here? He can't stop shaking and the whole world is spinning. Dr. Allen is still talking, tight, grim smile on his face and Liam wants to punch it off because he's using words like  _bad, but not hopeless_  except it is hopeless because, well. He can have them poke around in his head and feed him drugs through plastic tubing but the gist of this entire conversation is that he's going to  _die_. 

"They were supposed to be just headaches," he whimpers helplessly, wanting to disappear when Zayn lets out this little choking sob next to him, hand curling around Liam' arm and tugging him close but Liam tugs back. He doesn't want anyone to touch him. His skin itches, like he needs to shed it all and start anew. He wants to sink into the ground and disappear into the very core of the earth, to become part of the soil and rock and grass, to exist everywhere and nowhere simultaneously.

Instead, he stands up slowly and says, very quietly, "I think I need to puke," before walking out of the room and stumbling down the clean white hospital hallway to the bathrooms, locking himself in a stall and clutching the porcelain basin with shaking hands. He doesn't puke, though - just sits there, body heaving but never quite enough to get him to empty the contents of his stomach and  _god_ , he wishes he could because dread is coiling in his stomach like rope and he presses his forehead to the toilet seat. 

It's gross, but he doesn't care. It feels suddenly like all the life has drained out of him and he sits there, limp and emotionless for a long, long time until Zayn is pounding on the door, begging him to let him in. His voice is loud and broken and Liam can tell he's been crying. It feels like the entire world is falling away around him and when he finally opens the door, shaking like a leaf, he collapses into Zayn's arms.

"'S gonna be okay," Zayn whispers into his temple, smearing tears into his hair. Liam isn't convinced, but he follows Zayn back to Dr. Allen's office anyway because what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

Once they're settled back in the uncomfortable plastic chairs and Zayn has pulled Liam' chair so close he's nearly in Zayn's lap, the doctor smiles professionally. Liam wonders how many people he's had to tell they were dying. He's probably had lots of practice, from the look on his face, but the guilty look in his eyes betrays him. Liam' stomach churns violently.

"So, treatment," Dr. Allen begins again, folding his hands on top of the stack of papers on his desk. "The most common path is surgery; we can get a better look at it and remove a good portion of the tumor that way, though how much we're able to remove is hard to determine at the moment."

Liam doesn't want to hear it. Zayn is listening raptly, though, and Liam almost expects him to whip out a pen and start taking notes. The thought makes him want to cry. He drifts in and out of the conversation, all too aware of the knobs of his spine pressing against the cold back of the chair and that his left sock has slipped off his heel, leaving his foot cold and uncomfortable. Drifting back to the present, he tries desperately to tune back into what the doctor is saying. "...chemotherapy is always an option," Dr. Allen says, lips pursed, and Liam' heart is in his throat. "Unfortunately, it has proved in the past to have very little effect on the life expectancy or even the comfort of brain tumor patients." 

There's a low, guttural moan then and it takes Liam a moment to realize he's the one making it.

"Again, Liam," Dr. Allen says, and Liam flinches because up until now he's only been addressed as  _Mr. Malik_. "It's all up to you."

"Can I..." Liam begins, feeling the ache in his tummy grow and come crawling up his throat, like it's going to pop out and glue his mouth shut before he can finish but he pushes on, desperate to get the words out. "Can I have a few days to think about it?" 

The doctor nods. "Absolutely. However - as is with all forms of brain cancer - time is of the essence." Liam knows he's seen and heard this a hundred times before.  _How many dead people does this guy know?_ Liam wonders.  _How many death sentences has he given out?_  

"Do you want to talk about it?" Zayn asks on the car ride home, eyes rimmed red, chewing his lip worriedly, and reaches out to rest his hand over Liam'. Liam tugs away, almost instinctively, but the look of hurt on Zayn's face is enough to make him rethink it.

"Not really," he mumbles, pressing his nose against the glass and slipping his hand back into Zayn's. A beat of silence, then, "What about the band?"

"Fuck the band," Zayn snaps and Liam almost laughs at how very unlike himself Zayn sounds right now. "Sorry," he adds quickly, eyes apologetic and a little embarrassed. "It's just, you know. You're more important."

"That doesn't even make sense," Liam snorts, rolling his eyes. " _They're_  not going to like that." He doesn't need to specify who  _they_  are. Zayn knows.

Squeezing Liam' hand, Zayn says, "We'll figure it out."

 

 

 Liam does a lot of research, scrolling through articles on his phone or the computer from the minute he wakes up to early hours of the morning, light from the screen hurting his eyes and certainly doing nothing to help the pain in his head.

Not like anything is really going to help at this point.

And the doctor was right - there's not a lot they can do. There are medications he can take to help with the tumor swelling and they can remove some of the tumor but even if they remove most of it he's still going to die; removing it is only going to buy him an extra year or so, if he's lucky. A year of radiation and chemo and constant hospital visits he doesn't  _want_  it, doesn't want any of this. He wants to see his sisters grow up, wants to buy a house with Zayn, wants to be allowed to hold his hand on the street. He wants to go on tour again next year, wants to travel more, he wants so much and there's just no  _time_  for it all, even with treatment. 

The average survival length for glioblasoma patients without treatment is four months. Maybe five. 

It scares Liam when his weary brain whispers,  _that's more than enough_. 

He's just so tired, is the thing. 

 

 

It's two days, six hours, twenty two minutes and twelve seconds when Liam makes his decision. 

It hits him right in the chest like a bolt of lightning and he sits bolt upright in bed. Zayn wakes up immediately, reaching out for him.

"What's wrong, boo?" he asks, voice hoarse from sleep and cracking with concern. It makes Liam sad that he knows he's going to have to get used to it.

But looking at Zayn's tired eyes, he knows now isn't the best time to tell him. Maybe it'll be better to tell him in the morning, when light is warming his face and his brain isn't so muddled with thoughts and pain -  _so much pain_. So instead he just lays back down, cuddling into Zayn's chest and mumbling, "Nothing, love. Just a bad dream is all. Back to sleep now, you."

If Zayn notices how badly he's shaking, he doesn't say anything.

"So," he begins quietly, so quietly he's not even sure Zayn's heard him, but Zayn's head jerks towards him almost immediately. "I, um. I think I decided."

Zayn's posture visibly stiffens and he mutes the tv, turning so he can look at Liam head-on. "Okay," he says, nodding jerkily and, shit, this is going to be harder than he'd hoped. 

And all at once, Liam can't do it.

He's not used to crying so much but now it feels like there's an endless supply of tears waiting to come raining down his cheeks because  _he can't fucking do this_. He doesn't want to die, but he's going to die anyway, and he doesn't want them poking around in his head but if they don't he'll probably die sooner but he doesn't want to live longer if it means he's going to be bedridden for months on end, sleeping his days away and waking up not knowing where he is, but if he tells Zayn the truth it's going to kill him, because he knows Zayn wants him to try. Zayn wants to exhaust every single possibility, and if he had it his way he'd let them poke around in Liam' brain and pump him full of poison if it meant keeping him alive, and Liam knows he means well, but. Zayn's not the one with the cancer.

"Hey, hey, c'mon now," Zayn soothes, rubbing circles on Liam' back with his hand. 

"Zayn," he gasps, peeking out through his eyelashes that are heavy and dripping with tears, "Zayn, I don't want them poking around in my head."

"Li," Zayn murmurs sympathetically, fingers carding through his hair, clutching at him like he's scared Liam is just going to fade away. "Baby, I know you're scared b-"

"No, Zayn," he cries, clutching Zayn's shoulders and pushing himself up so he can look Zayn in the eyes. "No."

Zayn is shaking, eyes glassy as he looks at Liam helplessly. "What do mean, Li?"

"I mean I don't want them poking around in my head, or feeding me drugs through a tube or any of it, I don't because it's going to get bad no matter what Zayn, and I'm not sure I want to be around when that happens." Liam exhales shakily.

"Li," Zayn whispers, blinking in disbelief. "Are you...do you  _want_  to die?"

Liam shakes his head quickly. "Of course I don't, but I'm going to anyway, Zayn, don't you understand? And I'm so scared but I don't want to like...I don't want to  _suffer_...more than I have to. Fuck. I don't know if that makes sense but I just. I don't know, Zayn, I don't and I'm  _sorry_." His words are only little gasps at this point before Zayn grabs his chin and kisses him, hard, like they're running out of time. And, well. They are.

"I'm sorry," Liam whimpers when Zayn pulls away, cheeks flushed prettily. "I love you so much, and I'm sorry, and I understand if you don't want to stay."

Zayn's brow furrows in confusion. "What do you mean, if I don't want to stay?" His face crumbles as the realization dawns on him. "Oh, baby," he sighs, gathering Liam up in his arms. "You know I'd never leave. Would never fucking leave you, not ever."

Liam is on the brink of a panic attack, desperately trying to convey his point to Zayn. "You do realize it's going to get bad, right? It's going to get bad, Li. I'm going to get really, really bad and you're gonna have to...like,  _care_  for me and it's going to be _horrible_." His voice is barely a whisper.

"Do you really think I would leave  _now_ , of all times?" Zayn looks wounded. "Don't care, Li. Gonna take care with you. Gonna stay with you. Forever, okay? I promised you forever and I meant it."

"You mean that now, but you're going to regret it," Liam protests shakily.

Zayn just pulls Liam close, kissing his hair. "You're so brave, baby. I love you so much. You're so  _brave_ , Li."

Liam blinks, confused. "You're not mad?"

Zayn shakes his head, taking both Liam' wrists in one hand and holding them down. "'M not mad. Scared, yeah. Not mad, though." He closes his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. He's still shaking a little. "Really scared."

"Me, too," Liam says in a tiny voice, eyelashes fluttering against Zayn's cheek. 

They stay like that for a while, foreheads pressed together in the silence, breathing each other's air.

 

 

It's a Tuesday when the other boys find out.

"Do you want to tell them?" Zayn asks softly, knocking their knees together and Liam bites his lip, thinking. He doesn't think he can.

Finally, Liam shakes his head because he doesn't trust his voice. Harry, Niall, and Louis stare at him worriedly from the couch. The couch is more of a love seat and is really too small for all three of them to be sitting on it, but they don't mind. He knows they'd make him and Zayn come sit as well if he hadn't insisted sitting with Zayn instead. He thinks if he gets any closer to them he'll break. 

"Okay. So me?" Zayn clarifies, tilting Liam' chin up so he can look him in the eyes. Liam merely nods, almost positive he's about to be sick again and pressing his face into Zayn's shoulder. 

Zayn takes a long, deep breath, taking Liam' hand in his before saying simply, "Liam is sick."

And then they're all talking at once.  _What kind of sick? Is he going to be okay? Has he seen a doctor yet? Does he need to go to the hospital? Is he not going to be able to come to America for promo? Is it serious?_ Liam almost rolls his eyes, wants to say  _Of course it's serious, you idiots._  He doesn't, though, because they don't need that right now.

"'M  _dying_ ," he squeaks out pathetically, immediately reaching for Zayn and putting his face in his lap, thinking that if he just stays here until they leave he can avoid the worst of it - their ugly, horrified expressions, the pity in their eyes. He doesn't want pity. It's embarrassing. 

And he can hear everyone talking at once but his brain refuses to turn their words into anything but rambling, and all at once their hands are on him, stroking his face and running through his hair and tugging him up to look at them and Harry is first, wrapping Liam tight in his arms and Liam is reaching around to hug him back, feeling safe and very, very sad suddenly as Niall reaches under Harry's arms to pull Liam close and Louis waits patiently behind them, not wanting to overwhelm him and fuck, Liam loves them. 

He feels warm and happy and  _loved_ , so, so loved as Louis pulls him into a hug, rubbing his back and whispering nonsense into his ear and he's pretty sure Niall is holding his hand. Fuck, he's not ready to leave his boys.

 Not now, not  _ever_. 

 

 

One Direction goes on a hiatus after the release of their new album. It's a video, only about a minute long, and they're all smiling to the point where it's painful, giving thumbs up and promising  _We'll be back soon_. The status of next year's tour is still unknown.

"You should go, you know," Liam tells them quietly, head resting in Zayn's lap. They're all sitting cross-legged on the carpet in front of Liam and Zayn. "Do the tour. And music. More music."

They all come to the unanimous decision that no, they won't be doing any of that. 

"Not without you," Zayn says roughly, voice deathly low. "Never without you."

Liam feels like crying, because they can't just  _end_ One Direction just like that because of him. They're supposed to go out with a bang, not a whimper. They can't just cancel the tour, because so many people are looking forward to it and  _they're_  all looking forward to it and oh god, people are going to be so angry and he can't stand the thought of letting so many people down.

"The band doesn't have to die when I do," Liam whispers, sniffling and wiping his nose with his sleeve, and just like that Niall is jumping up to wrap his arms around him, pressing his face into Liam' back.

"You  _are_  the band," Niall insists, smiling a little. "We're brothers. A  _team_ , and we're not playing without you."

 

 

The headaches are getting worse. 

Liam smiles through it, pretends not to notice. After their interview with Ellen, he collapses into Zayn's arms backstage, pain practically immobilizing him. He falls asleep in Zayn's lap on the way back to the hotel.

He cries that night when his hands are shaking so badly he can't even press the damn elevator button. He's so used to being able to fix things, patch them up and make them good as new and fuck, he can't fix this.

Liam spends all of his time in America gazing at the landscapes of everywhere he goes, memorizing faces and places because he knows he's probably never going to get to come back.

Despite everything, he's going to miss it. 

 

 

It's a Sunday afternoon, sleet is falling steadily just outside the windows, and they're still in bed. Liam sits cross-legged on the mattress, running his fingers through Zayn's hair, fingers slipping through the soft strands. Bruce is curled up at his side, tail thumping against his leg. Zayn's playing an album by one of his terrible indie bands over the speaker on the dresser. It's kind of nice. 

Letting go of Zayn's hair for a moment, Liam presses his face into the back of Zayn's neck, flushed with heat even in this chilly November weather. 

"What about kids?" he asks after a long time. Zayn's posture straightens a little, and Liam smiles grimly. It's not like he expected any less. 

"Li," he croaks, turning halfway and Liam can already see that his eyes are glassy. "Don't."

And normally Liam would just drop the conversation there, whispering  _I'm sorry_  over and over again into Zayn's skin and sucking an apology bruise onto the side of his neck before going back to playing with his hair, but instead he just sits on his shaking hands, bites his lip and tries again. "But, like...you know, if we were. To have kids, I mean. Names. I know we've discussed them, but I need to  _know_. And, like, which one would be head over heels for you and which one I'd corrupt and take out for ice cream after tea. Please, Zayn. I just. It's stupid, but," Liam pauses, fiddling with the sleeves of his -  _Zayn's_  - jumper and attempting to gauge Zayn's expression. "I just feel like it's something I want to know, before. You know." His voice isn't any higher than a whisper by the last word, but he's still proud.

Zayn sits quietly for a long time, almost eerily still as he gazes out the window at the storm beyond, storm clouds grey and kraken-cruel. Finally, so quietly Liam' sleepy brain almost doesn't pick it up, he says, "You  _would_ manage to corrupt them, wouldn't you?" The corners of his lips quirk up slightly.

Liam nods, almost too enthusiastic. "Of course I would. And you'd be the parent who fucking blends up spinach and puts it in brownies, and we'd all compliment you on how good they are because we love you too much to crush your dreams like that." This earns a small chuckle from Zayn, much to Liam' delight. "But then afterwards I'd take them out for sundaes with extra whipped cream and fudge and they'd come home with ice cream all over their faces but they'd never tell you the truth, because I'm the cool parent." He grins devilishly, wrapping his arms around Zayn and tugging him back, back, back until they're lying side by side, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip.

"We'd get another dog, maybe. Or a cat. Name it Felix," Zayn says, closing his eyes and smiling fondly. "God, the kids would  _love_ you. I mean, they'd love me too, but they'd fucking  _adore_ you, Li."

Liam can't contain his grin, tucking his face into Zayn's shoulder. It takes him a little while to calm down the giddiness he's got growing in his belly, heart fluttering. "They'd love you, though," he says finally. "Whenever they were sad or scared they'd go to you first. You'd be the one up the second they would start crying in the middle of the night, all ready to rock them and sing them back to sleep with your terrible rock music." The words don't come out like he'd intended them to - it's getting harder to find the words he's looking for, but he can't let Zayn know that.

Zayn moves so he's lying on his side, leaning on his elbow and facing Liam, grinning like mad. "I guess I would. God," he laughs, tipping his face towards the ceiling fan. "It would be chaos. All the time. We'd need a bigger house. Like...way bigger."

"Of course," Liam agrees. "How else would we be able to fit in all that chaos?" He purses his lips, thinking. "And the holidays. The holidays would be the best. The whole house would be covered in tinsel and lights and the kids would make those tacky reindeer with googly eyes and paper clips and we'd buy Santa hats for all the animals in the house."

"And we'd have a tree, a big one. Even bigger than the one we have now," Zayn says, eyes a little glazed like he's somewhere else. "And even then it'd be a struggle to fit everyone around it."

Liam nods happily. " Yeah, of course. And of course we'd have to invite the boys. And your mum and dad and all of my family, too. All the girls." He smiles but feels tears prickling at his eyes when he pictures all their sisters crowded around a tree, Zayn's arm around him, giggling children practically hanging off of them with the boys looking on fondly.

Zayn notices immediately, and tries to steer the conversation away from that particular topic. "And on Halloween you'd be the one to go all out. All those bloody expensive animatronics to scare the shit out of all the trick or treaters." 

Liam feels like his heart is going to burst, and he also feels really tired all of a sudden, eyelids heavy and he struggles to keep them open. "Mhm," he hums, feeling sleepy and happy as he snuggles deeper under the down comforters, shuffling to get closer to Zayn until their chests are pressed flush together. Zayn runs a hand through Liam' hair affectionately and Liam sighs happily, letting his eyes fall all the way shut, mumbling, "Keep talking."

Zayn shifts so he can tuck Liam' head under his chin, hands wrapped protectively around his waist, and keep talking he does. "And of course you'd be raising them, too, so they wouldn't turn out to be ridiculous klutzes like me. You'd probably teach them all to skateboard with Louis, wouldn't you, boo?" Liam merely makes a tiny noise of agreement, face buried in Zayn's chest. 

"You'd be such a good dad.  _Fuck_ , Li. So fucking good." Zayn sniffles a little before continuing, voice coming out raw and it makes Liam want to cry, too.

Zayn is still talking but Liam is already drifting off, visions of dark-haired, hazel-eyed little children lingering in his mind and if Zayn's ramblings get cut off with a soft, sudden choking sob, Liam just squeezes his eyes shut tighter and pretends not to notice.

Liam is used to telling Zayn everything, pressing the words into Zayn's jaw or whimpering them into his mouth or crying them into his shoulder when he's embarrassed or sad or scared. There are, of course, some things Zayn doesn't know, like that on that rare occasions he's awake before Zayn he likes to stare at Zayn's face, eyes closed and lips parted and sometimes he cries, too, because Zayn is so wonderful and Liam doesn't know what force on earth decided he ever deserved someone so lovely and understanding and patient.

There are more, a few, but they're relatively unimportant things except now he's got a big secret hovering right over his heart like a butterfly, wings fluttering angrily and it's that he's starting to lose his words. 

He can't... he can't explain it, because it doesn't make sense but sometimes, he'll be in the middle of a story and somehow he'll just  _forget_  as in he cannot physically nor mentally get his tongue to wrap itself around the next word and it's fucking scary. Like, he'll be telling a story about his sisters or something he watched while Zayn was away or a stupid joke Niall told him when he'll forget the word  _play_ or  _watch_ or even  _funny_ and he'll cut himself short, ducking his head as panic creeps up his spine and then Zayn will say something that jogs his memory and he'll be able to finish his story in one piece. 

It's okay. Like the doctors said - bad, but not hopeless. He repeats the words to himself over and over in his head every night until they blur together and he nearly forgets them altogether.

Staring at Zayn's sleeping face, all he can think is  _please don't let me forget you, too._

 

 

Eventually, Zayn notices. Zayn notices everything. 

"Zayn," Liam says sharply, voice slightly panicked in a way it usually isn't. "Can't find the...the...for the car."

Zayn's brow furrows as he turns to look at him, lips curving downwards into a confused frown. "Huh, baby?"

Liam hands shake as he tries to imitate the act of putting keys in the ignition. "Can't find them," he blurts, feeling more embarrassed than anything else. 

"You mean the keys?" Zayn asks, voice dripping with concern. 

"Keys," Liam repeats, relief flooding through him so fast he thinks he might pass out. "Yeah. Keys." The word feels just as familiar as it always has, rolling easily off his tongue and he almost wants to laugh.

Zayn doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. 

The look on his face tells Liam everything he needs to know. 

 

 

Zayn makes him a list on his phone, a little list titled  _Words for Li :),_  all filled with words Liam has been forgetting most frequently but the list seems to be growing exponentially with every passing day, and it's a little hard to keep up. 

"Did you remember to feed the...the-" Liam pauses, brow crinkling in concentration as he licks his lips and Zayn feels a tidal wave of grief come crashing over him as Liam stands there, eyes narrowing even further, hands curling into tiny little fists as he struggles to find the word he's looking for.

Wrapping his arms tightly around Liam' shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of his head that he can only hope is comforting, Zayn murmurs, "The dog, love?" 

Liam turns into Zayn's embrace and buries his face in Zayn's collarbones and Zayn feels his heart sink down to his knees when he feels wetness pooling there.

"Hey," he says gently, snaking a hand between Liam' chest and his and grasping Liam' chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. Liam' eyes are glossy and rimmed red and he looks so pathetic and hopeless it's got tears prickling at Zayn's own eyes. But he won't cry - not now, because this time Liam needs him to be the strong one. And he will be. 

"Baby," he murmurs, walking slowly backwards until his back thumps against the wall and tugging Liam with him, sinking down to the floor so Liam can rest in the space between his legs. It's only a minute or two until Liam' sniffles stop completely, but the sensation of helplessness remains. "S'okay," he says, grabbing one of Liam' hands - so teeny tiny, he's always been; it's one of Zayn's favorite things - and traces the lines of his palm until Liam has fully calmed down and is sitting upright, picking at the carpet with his free hand.

"Feel so stupid," Liam mutters, cheeks flushing as he ducks his head, almost shamefully. "All the time."

" _No_." Zayn nearly growls it, voice going harsh in a way it normally doesn't with Liam. Liam' head snaps up at the tone in his voice, looking more than a little startled but Zayn just doesn't  _care_ , because he doesn't know what to do and he fucking hates feeling helpless like this. He wants to press Liam into their mattress and whisper into his skin all the words that are running through his mind but they've got places to go and there's just no time. There never is, and his stomach lurches because they're running out of fucking time and he has so much he needs to  _say_.

Instead, he just pulls Liam close so their faces are level, noses brushing. Their breathing is almost humorously noisy in the still, quiet of the flat. "You're  _not_  stupid," Zayn insists firmly, hands holding Liam' face in place so he can't squirm away. "Never stupid, baby. Don't like hearing you say things like that." Liam' gaze lowers and Zayn knows he's going to start crying again, so he kisses him before he can.

It's only a chaste brush of lips, but it's enough. 

"You don't  _get_  it," Liam snaps, whirling on him one night when Zayn is trying to cuddle him out of feeling sad for forgetting the word  _plant_.  _Plant_ , for Christ's sake. "You don't know what it's like to wake up and forget the stupidest damn things, like where your toothbrush is or which door it is to our room."

His lower lip trembles and he bites down on it, hard. He isn't sad, he is  _angry_ and he wants Zayn so badly to understand but he can't fucking make him understand and it's not fair to try but it feels like he's stumbling through an endless expanse of moonless night alone and if that isn't the most goddamned terrifying thing, he's not sure what is.

"Babe," Zayn says gently, eyes glittering and Liam knows he's going to cry. "I know. I'm sorry. I just,  _fuck._  Wish there was something I could do. I don't know what to do or how to help and I feel fucking helpless and I hate it, Zay-"

"I don't  _want_ this," Liam cries suddenly, cutting Zayn off and he feels like he's going to collapse, he's shaking so bad. "Gonna...forget... _everything_. You know that, right? That this is minor compared to how bad it's gonna get? Not gonna be able to sing or even fucking  _talk_ , Zayn," he whimpers. "I don't want to forget  _you._ "

He barely has time to process his own sobs before Zayn is engulfing him, arms wrapping tight around him, fingers digging into his back. Liam has quiet sobs wracking his body and from the way he's shaking he know Zayn's started to cry, too. 

"I'm sorry," Liam whispers, wiping his eyes on Zayn's shirt. "I know you're trying. You're perfect. I'm sorry I said anything."

He never brings it up again.

 

 

Zayn walks in on Liam snuggled under the covers with his knees to his chest, frantically scribbling onto a piece of notebook paper before pausing, tapping his chin with the pen, and going back to writing.

"What're you doing?" Zayn asks, nudging teasingly at Liam' legs. Liam just narrows his eyes and sticks his tongue out at him, eyes still trained on the paper in front of him.

"Tell me," Zayn whines, slithering coyly up next to Liam and nudging at his hip with his nose.

Liam sighs, capping his pen and folding up the paper into a tiny square, holding it firmly in his hand. "A letter," he says simply.

Zayn waggles his eyebrows playfully. "To who? Your one true love? Are you cheatin' on me, boo?" He reaches out to tickle Liam' sides and his heart soars when Liam gives in and squeals, curling in on himself.

"Zayn, _stop_ ," he pleads through his laughter, trying in vain to swat Zayn's hands away. Zayn doesn't stop though, because Liam' laugh is music to his ears and he wants to listen to it all night long. His hands still, though, when they graze over Liam' ribs, the shocking jut of his hipbone. He knows why - Liam' appetite has been nonexistent lately but it's still terrifying, realizing just how small hes gotten. 

"So small," he murmurs sadly, fingers curling around Liam' bicep and even he's surprised when he can fit his entire arm in the loop between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Always been kind of small," Liam retaliates, pulling the covers higher over himself like he's trying to hide. 

"Not like this," Zayn whispers, turning his sad eyes to meet Liam' gaze. Liam' cheeks are flushed, like he's almost embarrassed.

"It's a letter for you," he says softly, nose crinkling the way it does when he thinks something is funny, and Zayn stills. "The paper."

"For me?"

Liam nods, rolling onto his tummy. "For you."

"Do I get to read it?"

"Mmm," Liam hums, eyes fluttering shut and he peeks out at Zayn playfully, grinning. "Not yet. S'not done yet."

"Soon?"

"Yeah," Liam says, face almost unreadable. "Maybe."

 

 

Liam finishes his letter to Zayn the next morning while Zayn is making him eggs, even though his stomach is in knots and he doubts he'll be able to eat much. He finishes off the letter with a flourish before capping his pen. There's an air of finality to it as he neatly folds the letter and sticks it into the empty envelope he's got sitting in front of him, the one he made Zayn scour the entire flat for. 

He makes sure to make devious eye contact with Zayn the entire time he's licking the envelope — he knows he's over-licked it when it won't even seal properly, so he makes Zayn find him another, which he seals with not nearly as much tongue swiping. He scribbles something quickly on the front of it, too quick for Zayn to get a chance to look, and shoves it deep in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Do I get to read it now?" Zayn asks from where he's standing by the stove, bare-chested with his pajama bottoms riding low on his hips as he concentrates on frying the sizzling bacon in the pan in front of him.

"No," Liam says simply, suddenly feeling very tired, mostly because of the cancer and all, but also because he doesn't want to have this conversation.

Zayn frowns, turning to narrow his eyes at him, one hand still holding the spatula. "You said it was for me."

"It is for you. But you don't get to read it  _now_."

"When do I get to read it, then?" 

"Like, um. After," Liam mumbles, fidgeting in his chair as he feels Zayn's gaze on him harden. He hears the sound of the burner being turned off, spatula being put back on the counter, Zayn's footsteps approaching and he squeezes his eyes shut tight because he really, really doesn't want to have this conversation right now, or maybe ever. 

"After what, Li?" Zayn asks, voice dangerously low.

"You know what." It comes out harsher than he intended. He can't help it. His head is starting to throb and he fights the urge to close his eyes again. 

"Li." Zayn's voice is gentle now, watery, like he's going to cry. Or maybe he's already crying; Liam can't bring himself to look at his face. They've both been doing a lot of crying lately. Liam doesn't like it.

"I, just," Liam sputters, wracking his brain for the words he's looking for. "Wanted to, like, give you something. Of me. That's... _me_ , in a way, if that makes sense. So you can have it...when I'm, um. When I'm not me anymore, I guess." He brings a hand up to rub at his eye and it comes away wet. He doesn't know when he started crying but all he knows now is that he  _is_ crying and he's pretty sure Zayn is, too, and he can't stop.  

"Oh, Li," he whispers, and he's aiming for his mouth but ends up kissing his cheekbone instead. Close enough. "Okay," he says finally, looking resigned. "I'll wait to read it, then. Until...after." The look on his face makes Liam' heart ache. The look of understand and resignation and  _sadness_ because he understands now and that's all Liam has ever wanted from him but seeing it now just makes him want to disappear.

Soon, he thinks.  _Soon._  

 

 

Turns out that his  _soon_  is coming sooner than expected when he's in the shower one morning, washing his hair with Zayn's apple-scented shampoo and the world in front of him blurs, a jolt of pain hitting him so badly he doubles over, clutching at his stomach and he barely has time to yell for Zayn before his entire lower half goes numb and the world in front of him spins into blackness.

Zayn finds him on his side in the shower in a pool of blood from the gash on his head, eyes slightly open, skin flushed and he's shaking violently, lips parted like he's going to say something but he's not, just releasing this little breathy gasps and Zayn is at his side at once, begging, "Li, Li, c'mon, stay with me. Come back to me, sweetheart." He continues chanting even as he's frantically trying to explain to the 911 operator what's happened.

"My boyfriend passed out in the shower and he's bleeding and shaking and fuck, there's blood  _everywhere_ , please send somebody  _now_!" He runs his shaking fingers through Liam' damp hair. When he pulls his hand away it's covered in Liam' blood and he nearly loses it right there but he  _can't_ , not now. Not yet.

"Liam," he repeats desperately, pressing his fingers to Liam' pulse point on his neck and his mouth to Liam', breathing, trying to give him air, trying to help him  _breathe,_ for Christ's sake.

By the time the paramedics show up, though, Liam' shaking has ceased and he's stopped responding altogether.

Zayn has to pull over on his way to the hospital, trailing after he ambulance - he stumbles out onto the damp grass on the side of the road and empties a mouthful of stomach bile onto the soil. 

 

 

 _A seizure_ , the doctors tell him.  _Bad, but common with glioblastoma patients._  Zayn wants to be sick again. 

When Liam wakes up, he is  _screaming_ in pain, clutching at his head with shaking fingers and grabbing the nurse's hand and begging, "Please make it stop, please make it stop, just make it  _stop_."

So they cut into his scalp, taking Liam' desperate cries as permission. They're able to remove some of the tumor, but not enough. Not nearly enough. It's bad, they say, shaking their heads and gazing sadly at Zayn when he breaks down in the waiting room, head in his hands. Really fucking bad.

He only cries harder when he gets to see Liam, looking so small and tired in his hospital bed, patch of hair missing and angry stitches where they sliced into his head, poked around in his brain. He has to be escorted out until he can compose himself. When he finally does, Liam won't talk, but Zayn doesn't need him to. He just sits in the chair by his bed, matching his fingers into the shapes of Liam' tattoos.

Karen and the whole crew are there by the next morning, crowding around Liam and his sisters are crying, crying, crying and when his sister sits on the bed next to him Liam just quietly strokes her hair, murmuring, "It's okay. I'm okay. Don't worry about me. I'm okay." Karen has to leave the room and Zayn follows her, enveloping her in a tight hug because he gets it.

"I know," he whispers, Karen's face pressed into his shoulder, staining his coat with mascara tears, "I'm scared, too."

The boys come visit, too, piling into a couple of chairs near Liam' bed and talking to him excitedly, quickly, and it breaks Zayn's heart when Liam merely looks up at them, blinking and lost and so, so confused. Zayn tries to repeat what the doctors told him to them, that they need to slow it down, that Liam' brain isn't working at fully capacity right now and it's going to start taking him a little while to understand people so they need to just  _slow it down_  so as to not overwhelm him.

They nod grimly, and the way they talk to him after that is so heartbreakingly gentle that Zayn has to leave the room.

Liam gets to come home five days later. A few pictures of him leaving the hospital, Zayn's beanie on his head covering the worst of his scars, make it into the tabloids, but it's passed off as a minor incident, a stomach bug. It's clear from the glazed look in Liam' eyes and his hollowed cheeks that this isn't the case, but most people don't question it. An influx of  _Get well soon! :)_ tweets are posted, all tagging @Real_Liam_Payne, and it makes Zayn's skin crawl.

Somehow, when Liam walks through the door, guided by Zayn's warm hand on the small of his back, and whimpers  _Just wanna go back to bed, Zaynie_ , Zayn knows things will never be quite the same again. 

The clock ticks on the wall. He shivers.

 

 

Zayn spends a lot of time doing research, and each search turns up more horrors about Liam' worsening condition - more seizures, sleeping 18 hours a day, hallucinating, unable to eat or drink or even swallow, forgetting things that happened just hours ago. He can't believe this is happening, and it's happening to  _Liam_ , of all people - the sun of his existence, light of his life, the  _love_ of his life, his favorite boy in the world.

When one night Liam can't stop throwing up and he's shaking so bad Zayn worries he's going to have another seizure, Liam buries his tear-stained face in Zayn's chest and cries, "Just want it to stop, just want it to be over now."

"I know, boo, I know you do, I'm sorry," Zayn babbles, hands stroking Liam' hair as he mentally prepares for the next vomiting episode. 

It only occurs to Zayn later, after he's cleaned and sanitized the entire bathroom, when they're curled up in bed as the sun begins to rise, turning the whole world purple, that maybe Liam'  _just want it to be over now_  means something different than what he'd originally interpreted it as, and he clutches the smaller boy closer.

He won't let him go. Not without a fight.

 

 

"Stay," Zayn whispers desperately, pressing his lips to Liam' temple like he can somehow ease the pain that's blooming there, but he can't make the pain stop and no matter how hard he tries he can't make Liam stay.

"Wish I could," Liam whispers back, pressing himself closer to Zayn, leaning into his touch. 

Zayn wonders if he holds Liam close enough, he can keep him forever. He promised Liam a long time ago that he'd always protect him. Always, except he always thought that would be protection from something physically, tangible, except now this thing killing Liam is a part of him and all Zayn can fucking do is sit back and  _watch_  as his boy gets worse and worse.

He's so  _scared_ , because it's the first time he's made a promise to Liam that he's realized he can't keep. 

 

 

Liam' quiet lately. Not because he's shy or anything — it just takes him a little longer to process words and it's even more draining for him to speak in complete sentences all the time. He still  _talks_ , sure, but a majority of his communication most days is via smiles and nods and head shakes. He's been using their thumbs-up signal recently, too.

Zayn doesn't mind. Sure, it's weird not having Liam' sweet little voice filling up the halls, always an uncontrollable ball of energy, but. He's still soft and cuddly and cheeky and  _here_ , and that's all that matters. 

He starts off every morning by asking Liam, "What color are you today, boo?" 

It's a system they've come up with, like traffic lights, because three colors are easier for Liam to keep track of than individual emotions. 

Green is a good day, when Liam is alert and in the mood for company and cartoons and maybe even pancakes. Yellow means  _okay._ Yellow means, "I'm okay, but I might not be later," or vice versa. On yellow days, Liam is a little slower; it takes him a little longer to speak, a little longer to process Zayn's words. Yellow means no company and quiet music and cuddles and lots of tea. Sometimes, on yellow days, Zayn reads to him, keeping his voice low and even, fingers tangled with Liam'.

Red is a bad day — red is when the pain in Liam' head is almost unbearable, it's radio silence and Liam taking as long as ten minutes to answer a single question, or sometimes not at all. Red is Zayn spooning ice chips into Liam' mouth because he can't handle anything else. Red is Liam clutching onto Zayn like he's a lifeline, like he's the only thing keeping Liam here. 

Today is a  _red_  day. Zayn can tell right off the bat, because it takes nearly twenty minutes to get Liam awake and somewhat responsive, and even then his eyes are fluttering like he's physically incapable of keeping them open and it makes Zayn's heart aches, how terribly weak he looks.

By early evening, though, after the sky has shifted from blue to pink to purple, Liam' red has dimmed to yellow. Zayn can tell; Liam is much more alert, he has the energy to walk to the toilet by himself (Zayn escorts him anyway, despite Liam' weak protests that he's  _not a_   _child_ ,  _Zayn._ ) He's cuddlier, too, snuggling up closer to Zayn when he reaches out to run a hand through Liam' hair.

Liam lays on his side, eyes trained on Zayn's. Zayn gazes back, unflinching — he knows from the look in Liam' eyes that he's truly here, really looking at Zayn. Just observing, like he's trying to remember every detail of Zayn's face. Zayn doesn't mind, though; after all, he's doing the same.

Feeling a sudden surge of affection, Zayn smiles gently, placing a hand on Liam' forearm to make sure Liam is present, grounded, and holds out his other hand in a tiny wave, waggling his fingers.  _Hi, I love you._  Warmth spills into his gut when Liam nods — he saw,  _he's here, he's here with me_ , Zayn's relieved mind chants over and over again — and gives Zayn a little thumbs up, corners of his mouth quirking up and he doesn't have to speak for Zayn to know what it means.

_I know. I love you, too._

 

 

Zayn wakes up unreasonably early the next morning, and at first he's completely ready to dive back under the covers and go back to sleep until he realizes  _today is Christmas_ and his heart leaps, only to sink back when his eyes fall on the sleeping boy next to him, looking exhausted even in sleep, purpled half moons under his closed eyes and cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass. 

He runs a hand experimentally down Liam' warm side, fingers lingering a touch too long on Liam' ribs, so prominent even through his shirt that Zayn has to fight to swallow back his panic. 

" Li," he murmurs, sinking down to be level with Liam and nosing at his cheek, running gentle hands down Liam' sides and back. "It's Christmas, baby. C'mon, wake up." 

It takes nearly five minutes and quite a bit of coaxing but Liam' eyelashes finally flutter as he peeks out at Zayn, nose crinkling a little and Zayn bites back a grin, reaching out to cup his jaw. "There you are," he practically coos, their noses brushing as Liam' fluttering lashes slow as he comes to. "There's my boy."

"Christmas," Liam repeats carefully.

"That's right," Zayn says with a nod, stroking Liam' cheekbone with his fingers. "Merry Christmas, darling." His eyes linger on Liam' face as it dawns on him that this is going to be Liam' last Christmas and he can the lump forming in his throat, but that thought makes him sad and he doesn't want to be sad on Liam' last Christmas, so he pushes the thought away and turns his attention to the sweet little thing in front of him, all curled up in fleece blankets, looking like a sleepy little child, hair sticking out in all directions. "What color are you today?"

Liam brushes his chapped lips together, contemplating this. "Green," he says finally, but with an upward inflection like he's just looking for whatever is going to make Zayn happy.

"Are you sure, babe?" Zayn asks, brow furrowing in concern.

"'M sure," Liam says simply, wrinkling his nose and narrowing his eyes as if to say,  _How dare you doubt me_. 

Zayn's mind drifts back to last Christmas, where he'd woken up to a very squirmy and happy Liam, who had, upon learning Zayn was awake, whispered excitedly in his ear, "Guess what today is? Christmas! Guess who said they'd make me chocolate chip pancakes? You did!" and spent a good ten minutes trying to drag a very sleepy Zayn out of bed. They'd wound up on the floor, Liam pressing merry Christmas kisses to Zayns' mouth, the column of his throat and his sternum before eating him out in the wintry sunshine pouring in through the window.

Zayn knows Liam is a little too fragile at the moment for that kind of roughhousing, but it doesn't keep him from pressing soft kisses to Liam' mouth, both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, whispering, "Love you, love you, love you," over and over again.

"Love you, too," Liam answers, voice bright and clear and, yeah. It's a green day.

 

 

They spend Christmas tangled up on the couch watching Christmas specials, all of Liam' favorites. Zayn bakes gingerbread cookies. Liam won't eat any, he  _can't,_ but he likes the smell and he likes watching Zayn bake, so. 

"Got you a present." Zayn tells him later that night, pulling off his shirt and closing his fingers around the object in his hand. 

Liam' mouth pops open a little, cheeks turning bright red and Zayn doubles over with laughter. "Oh, sweetheart," he chuckles, fingers smoothing Liam' fringe out of the way. "Not like that. Here, look," he explains, turning around and pointing to the inking on the back of his neck.

Liam frowns, looking confused at the sloping black lines. It's okay, though - Zayn expected him to be confused. 

"This," Zayn says, clearing his throat and taking Liam' hand to press it to the tattoo, the one that still stings a little, being so new, "is your heartbeat."

Liam' frown gradually dissipates and he blinks at Zayn, staring for a long time and his eyes are getting really, really glassy and oh, he's going to cry and Zayn leans down to peck his lips and nose at his jaw, murmuring, "Baby, don't cry. Don't be sad."

"'M not sad," Liam says at once, voice sharp. "'M  _happy_." 

And, fuck. Now Zayn's crying, too. He can't keep the stupid, happy grin off his face as he holds out the silver chain in the palm of his hand. Liam peers at it curiously, wiping at his eyes furiously with the back of his hand.

Hanging from the silver chain is a tiny silver paper airplane and, next to that, a circle with another set of curving lines, sloping like mountains. "And this," Zayn says, gently slipping the chain over Liam' head, "is my heartbeat."

"Oh," Liam says softly, fingers reaching to touch the charms, now lying snugly against his chest. 

"Do you like it?" Zayn asks hopefully, and he barely has time to register what's happening before Liam is launching himself at him, and they're a tangle of limbs and tears and Liam is crying, "Yes, yes, love it, love you, thank you thank you  _thank you._ "

Zayn's heart swells. With Liam in his arms, he feels like he can do anything.

 

 

They fuck, because Liam is feeling better than he has in a long time and he's begging for it, grinding down on Zayn's crotch and tugging at his shirt, pressing his face into Zayn's chest and whimpering desperately. The charms hanging from his neck make a soft jingling sound, like sleigh bells.

So, Zayn gives in after making Liam promise to  _please stop if you get too tired_.

"So pretty," Zayn murmurs, hands running through the hair at the base of Liam' scalp, soft and thin and he feels like he's going to go insane if he can't touch Liam one more time. "You're so  _pretty_ , baby. Always so pretty for me. Love you so much."

Zayn knows he's saying too much, too fast for Liam to completely understand, but Liam doesn't seem to mind. He just arches down into Zayn's touch, whimpering, "Yes, yes,  _more._ "

Zayn feels an ache deep in his heart, because here, laid down below Liam who's grunting and thrusting above him, gasping sharply when Zayn bites at his lip and tilting Zayn's head back to expose his throat to Liam so he's can mark him up, it feels like everything might be okay. Or, at the very least, he can pretend. 

Liam' been so  _tired_  lately, but tonight he's got enough to wrap his arms around Zayn's hips, holding Zayn down while he thrusts in to him a little too roughly, nipping at his ear with his hand on Zayn's cock and it's all over so fast Zayn wants to cry, collapsing back on the couch with Liam on top of him, all limp and warm and pliant.

"Merry Christmas, baby," Zayn mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion and he's too happy to feel anything else right now. "Love you. Love you so much." Liam just hums, nuzzling at Zayn's chest with his nose and closing his eyes. 

They fall asleep on the couch, basking in the warm glow of Christmas tree lights and the sound of Frank Sinatra singing  _have yourself a merry little Christmas._

 

 

Christmas is a red day. Zayn's heart is in his throat the entire fifteen minutes it takes to get Liam to respond to him, thinking about how he's so used to Liam crawling all over him and squealing, "It's Christmas, it's Christmas, Zayn, come on, get up!"

Liam is so  _weak_ , is the thing, and Zayn wonders if their endeavors the previous night tired him out even more. Probably. His stomach is in knots the entire time, as he makes the Facetime call to Karen and the girls, who unfortunately cannot make it due to the dreadful snow pileup but promise they'll be by to visit before New Year's.  _Please hurry_ , Zayn thinks but doesn't say anything. Liam can barely say anything, either, and his sisters don't understand this which just makes them talk faster, more overexcited and Liam looks so overwhelmed Zayn thinks he might cry.

They spend their Christmas day lying on the couch, watching more Christmas specials. Liam sleeps through most of them. Zayn sings Christmas tunes to him all afternoon, but he knows most of them are lost on Liam, who drifts in and out of consciousness every half hour or so.

Zayn is a little disappointed - well, he's a lot disappointed, actually, but he doesn't want to admit it to himself because frankly, it sounds a bit selfish.

He just wished their last Christmas together would be happier, is all. 

 

 

Last year, they spent New Year's Eve drunk off their asses, hiding in the dark corners, anywhere out of sight to cop a quick feel and when it struck midnight they had crashed their glasses together and Liam had mumbled, "To another lovely year with my favorite boy."

"The fourth New Year's we've spent together," Zayn had laughed, pressing a sloppy, drunk kiss to Liam' chin. "The fourth of many, many more to come."

This year, they spend it in their flat in almost complete silence. The other boys are here, too, and Taylor, because they can't just  _not_ invite her. For Christ's sake, she's got Harry absolutely whipped. They're all squished together on the couch, Liam resting across all of their laps and it's nice, having them all here for this. 

They're all touching him in some way - Harry's got his arms crossed over Liam' ankles, Louis is fiddling with the hem of his sweater and tracing little patterns onto Liam' hipbone that make the smaller boy giggle and swat his hand away. Niall has one of Liam' hands in his own, playing with his fingers and periodically making him flip Zayn the bird. And Liam' head is in Zayn's lap, with Zayn carding his hand gently through his hair, grinning sheepishly whenever Liam gets tired and presses his face into Zayn's stomach.

When the clock strikes midnight they all cheer, Harry pulling Taylor in for a kiss and Niall trying to hug everyone at once. Liam sits up slowly, blinking at Zayn, confused.

"It's New Year's, baby," Zayn whispers, grinning and pressing their foreheads together. "Happy New Year, Li. I lo-"

But Liam' lips cut him off, hot and insistent, before he can finish.

 

 

Besides Zayn, Niall is Liam' favorite.

He loves Louis and Harry, he does, but it feels like they're always too wound up, even when they're gentle, and on anything that isn't a Very Good Day it's hard for Liam to deal with.

Niall, though, he  _loves_ , and he's the only non-family member besides Zayn he can see on yellow days (red days are for Zayn and Zayn only, and sometimes not even then - mostly he just shuts down and when he's awake he stares at the wall like Zayn isn't even in the room.)

Niall is gentle and sweet, always greeting Liam with a, "Hey, babes." There's a lot of cuddling involved but Niall tells him stories, too, murmuring  _remember when..._  and not getting frustrated when Liam doesn't, which is often. Zayn can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, because he's read about glioblastoma patients pushing close friends and family away if they feel their business with them is done, and Zayn is terrified that one day Liam is going to decide he's just done with Zayn.

The doctors assure him that it's very unlikely - Zayn is his primary caregiver, his lover, his best friend. He will, most likely, continue to identify Zayn until the very end.

But Niall doesn't treat Liam like he's dying, and hard as he tries Zayn just can't do that.

 

 

Two weeks, three days and four hours into the New Year, Liam has another seizure. It's worse, because Zayn witnesses the whole thing, pressing desperate kisses to Liam' forehead as he begs him, "Just keep breathing, c'mon, darling, I've got you, stay with me a little longer," after it's over and Liam is crying and delirious.

Up until now, Zayn's always seen a little spark of hope in Liam' eye, but when Liam reaches out to him from his hospital bed, tucking his face into Zayn's arm and begs, "Please just take me home. Please, Zayn, just wanna go home," Zayn can almost see the light in his eyes go out, burning and flickering like a candle before collapsing into ash and smoke. 

He doesn't leave Liam alone anymore after that. Mostly he's with him, but if he's not it has to be someone he trusts. One of the other boys, if it's a shorter period of time. Or Karen. Nobody else, though, and even with the aforementioned people Zayn feels waves of panic washing over him the entire time he's out, from the second he walks out the door to the second he gets to see Liam' face again. 

Liam gets sad when he leaves. Zayn does too, but he has arrangements to make, hospital bills to pay, doctors to question, so he picks up the charms hanging from the silver chain around Liam' neck and kisses them.

"Now my love will be with you even when I'm not, and it'll keep you warm until I'm back," he promises. Liam nods, believing every word.

And when Zayn is out and worried, mind always chanting  _Liam Liam Liam is Liam okay is he awake or asleep is he eating is he happy does he miss me_ , he presses his fingers to Liam' heartbeat on his neck.

It's not a perfect solution, but it helps.

 

 

"How is he?" is the first thing out of Zayn's mouth after he's said hello to Niall, making a beeline for the chair where Liam is curled up like a cat, presumably asleep and crouching down in front of him.

"He's been out of it for a little over an hour," Niall says sadly, fingers brushing along Liam' arm doing nothing to rouse him. "Good until then, though. We watched  _Step Brothers_  and cuddled a bit. I told him I wouldn't tell you about the kissing if he didn't." Niall grins cheekily, holding up his hands defensively, as if to say,  _just kidding, please don't kill me._  "He kept talking about you before, though. Think he wanted you."

"'Course he wants me," Zayn says, cupping Liam' cheeks. "I'm his favorite. Right, sweetheart?"

Liam makes a soft, pathetic whining noise as he peeks out at Zayn through his lashes, nuzzling into Zayn's hand like a kitten.

"Hey, darling," Zayn greets him, kneeling down because it's easier for Liam to concentrate if Zayn is level with him. Liam' eyes are glassy, and he wipes absently at his nose with the sleeve of his jumper.

"Do I get a goodbye hug?" Niall teases as he gets up to go, looking fairly flustered when Liam laughs and tugs him down and wraps his arms around him, planting a friendly kiss on his cheek. "Bye, Li." He gives Zayn a hug on the way out, giving him the standard,  _Call me if you need anything._

When Zayn returns to where Liam is sitting, Liam looks like he's about to cry, lower lip trembling and Zayn wonders absently if he was feeling like this the entire time he was gone, just holding it in.

"Zayn," Liam whispers, sounding raspy and sad and Zayn makes a mental note not to leave the room until Liam is feeling okay again. 

"Yeah, babe. I'm here." Zayn frowns, examining Liam' eyes carefully to make sure  _he's_  actually here. "I think you're yellow right now. Is that right?"

Liam nods once. "Sad," he whimpers before burying his face in Zayn's arm, and Zayn scoops him up, pulling the blankets off the chair before he sits down with Liam in his lap, arranging the blankets around him neatly. 

"Why are you sad?" Zayn asks, fully prepared to get nothing in response. Liam is like that lately; unable to fathom  _how, why_ , even  _what._

So he's more than a little surprised when Liam blinks at him and mumbles, "Missed you." He's fidgeting with the necklace Zayn got him for his birthday, holding it so tight like he's scared it's going to disappear.

Zayn's heart is truly in his throat now. "Oh, baby," he croons, pressing a kiss to Liam' forehead. He can't stop kissing him nowadays, can't stop touching him, can't stop assuring Liam that he loves, loves, loves him to the moon and back. "Missed you, too. Missed you more, in fact. Way more." 

Liam bites his lip and shakes his head. "Not possible."

It's the most responsive he's been in a few days, and Zayn wants to take full advantage of it. "Are you hungry?"

Liam shakes his head. Zayn sighs. Good things never did come easy. 

"Okay, let's try this again. If I make soup, will you try to eat some?"

Liam nods this time, pursing his lips and gazing absently at the wall. Eating is hard, lately - he's never ever hungry and always so, so tired and the doctors have told Zayn this is normal  _as time goes on_ , which Zayn knows is code for  _as we get closer to the end_  but it's still terrifying, watching Liam look like he's going to waste away into nothingness.

Liam manages several spoonfuls of soup that night, snuggled up with Zayn in bed while they watch  _Anchorman_. Liam falls asleep halfway through, breathing soft and even but Zayn keeps his ear pressed to his chest the entire night long, eventually drifting off to the even lull of Liam' heart, the same one that's inked into the back of his neck. It's a good night.

It's one of the last good nights he'll have.

 

 

Zayn likes sing to him, likes to tell Liam stories. Liam likes being read to, but he likes it more when Zayn just  _talks_ , because his voice is always quiet and he never speaks too fast for Liam to understand. Mostly, though, Liam just likes to  _listen_ , and it's weird because Liam is usually the one talking, filling the room with his presence but things are different now and Zayn gets that and it's good. It's okay.

Zayn just holds him close and whispers, "It's okay. It's okay, Li. It's just a bunch of ink, anyway. What's important is that I love you, okay, and you love me too, right?"

Liam nods quickly, pressing his cold palm to Zayn's chest.  _Of course I love you_ , the gesture says. Zayn kisses his cold little nose and lets him rest, waiting until he's sure Liam is asleep to let his face relax and crumble.

He really doesn't want Liam to see him cry.

Zayn knows it's coming. It's been coming for a long time and frankly, he's gotten more time with Liam than he ever thought he'd get since the day he was diagnosed, and he should be grateful but instead he's just angry, angry because he doesn't want to lose Liam and angry because Liam can't remember a damn thing anymore and one of these days he's going to wake up and forgot Zayn's name and that's going to be it, Zayn thinks. That's going to be the last straw, and he can't deal with Liam dying not knowing who he is, not remembering every detail, every night they've spent tangled up together, every morning making heart eyes at each other over breakfast, every show with adrenaline pumping through their veins and love in their hearts, and.

Fuck. Zayn can't do this.  _Fuck._

 

 

Liam is alive on Zayn's birthday. Zayn can't believe it, and he sort of feels like the luckiest person on the planet.

"Didn't...didn't get you anything," Liam says sadly, clutching the paper airplane and heartbeat charms tightly to his chest. His eyes are apologetic and almost embarrassed.

Zayn almost crushes him with his hug, whispering, "You're here. You're here with me, Li. That's the best present I could've ever asked for."

And it is.  

 

 

Liam' eyelashes flutter. He thought he was tired, and he was. But this time, sleep doesn't take him immediately. It's strange. 

Zayn's voice catches him off guard - it sounds harsh and broken and tired. He's not used to hearing Zayn like that. Peeking out through his lashes he spots Zayn sitting in the corner of the room, face illuminated in the dim light of the desk lamp, phone pressed to his ear, head down.

"Fuck, I don't know. He's getting really bad. Like, worse than usual. He's having a lot of trouble understanding the things I'm saying and he won't eat or drink anything. Fuck, it could be tonight. It's like he's just barely hanging in there." A pregnant pause, then, "Fuck, no. I'm not ready. I'm really not. I'm scared to sleep, because I don't want to...miss it. I'm scared that I'm gonna doze off and when I wake up he's going to be gone. I don't want him to be...like, alone. When it happens, you know? Just want him to be okay."

It's certainly not a conversation he would be having if he knew Liam were awake, and somehow that just makes it even worse.

He doesn't want to die, except that he does.

But the thought makes him sad, so he just rolls over and squeezes his leaking eyes shut tight tight tight, brain imploding and exploding over and over again and he just wants it to be over. 

He hopes Zayn can sleep tonight. 

 

 

They're on the couch, watching Big Brother reruns as hour-old, half empty cups of tea sit on the coffee table in front of them, cold and abandoned. Liam is curled in Zayn's lap, head pillowed by Zayn's chest and the big blue fleece blanket he's cocooned in. Neither of them are watching the tv, not really - Liam is drifting in and out periodically, long eyelashes fluttering against the blanket. He's so  _tired_. Zayn is watching him more than anything else, one of Liam' tiny hands in his larger ones, smoothing along his skin and cupping it in hopes of providing some kind of warmth.

"Zayn," he mumbles, or at least he does in his head. Zayn's eyes are still trained on the window, and it's then that Liam knows that the words never actually left his mouth. Frustrated, he tugs gently on Zayn's shirt, and that definitely works because all at once Zayn's full attention is on him, fingers pressing against his forehead, smoothing his hair back, cupping his jaw. 

"Hey, boo," he says, enunciating each word so as to make it easier for Liam to understand. He widens his eyes a little and tilts his head, as if to ask,  _what's up?_

Liam closes his eyes again, presses his lips together, searching the mess inside his head for the words. It doesn't take as long as it normally does. A final stroke of luck, perhaps. "Just..." he starts, fingers curling tighter around the fabric of Zayn's shirt, head throbbing as he struggles to speak. "Love you." The words are slurred together and very, very quiet, but he can tell from the look on Zayn's face that he understands. Weakly, he tips his head up towards Zayn and Zayn does the rest, pressing his trembling hands to Liam' clammy cheeks and whispering words to him that he doesn't understand, noses brushing and he blinks wearily, trying to muster up a smile of sorts but Zayn just chokes out a sob and slots their mouths together.

It feels like home.

The relief he feels, though, after he finally spits out the words is the nicest thing he's felt in months, and he lets his eyes slip shut again with Zayn's lips still on his.  _This is it, this is it, this is it,_ his mind chants. It's so comforting he almost doesn't feel Zayn go rigid beneath him. Almost. Zayn is talking, now, but there are too many words, too quick and frantic and Liam is too tired to even try to figure out what they mean. It feels like he's falling down the rabbit hole, the world around him growing darker and darker and it's too exhausting to try to pull himself out even with Zayn's help. He just wants to sleep.

 _Home,_ he thinks, pressing his face into Zayn's chest and breathing in deep.  _Home._

 

 

It doesn't end with a bang like Zayn has been preparing for. It's a whimper and a soft, breathy sigh, Liam' frail chest rising once, twice, three times more and then everything is still, like the earth has stop turning on its axis. 

Somehow, knowing it's coming doesn't make it any less painful. If anything, it makes it worse - like every place Liam has ever touched him is burning, flames licking hungrily at his blistering skin.

It takes him a long, long time to move, and even longer to get himself untangled from Liam because he's trying to be careful. So, so careful -  _don't wake Liam, don't wake Liam_ he thinks. His fingers shake as he dials the number - he's got it memorized at this point, he's been ready for weeks - and his voice cracks a little as he explains the situation to the operator.

Liam looks okay, at least - less tired, mouth slack. He looks like a kid again. Zayn hopes he's not hurting anymore.

When the paramedics finally come, Zayn is running his shaking fingers through Liam' hair, just the way he likes -  _liked_ , he reminds himself, feeling another shard of his sanity crumble to the carpet - and it almost feels like normal. Almost.

After they take him away, Zayn sits on the edge of the couch, shaking hard and clutching at his knees as it sinks all the way into his very core that  _he's never going to see Liam ever again_ and he's put his fist through the drywall before his reason can catch up.

 

 

It's not until two weeks later when he wakes up cold and alone in bed that he remembers the note. The fucking  _letter._

He nearly dies tripping over his own feet on his way to the dresser, yanking out the envelope and clutching it to his chest desperately, head tilted towards the ceiling and for the first time since Liam died he feels  _something_. Not a good something, but something nonetheless.

His hands are shaking so badly. He's scared to even look at it, scared because this is the last piece of Liam he has. That's untrue, really, because he has all Liam' clothes and pictures and his phone and his everything, but somehow this feels like  _it_ , the final nail in the coffin.

Zayn's dry expression makes way for a choking sob as his eyes land on the front of the envelope - two crudely drawn stick figure boys, holding hands with a lopsided heart in between them, _L _\+ Z forever!!!!!!!!__   scribbled in its center. Next to it is what appears to be the two said stick figures engaging in what Zayn can only assume is anal sex and he can't decided whether to laugh or cry harder. Maybe both. 

Before he can remove the contents of the envelope, the doorbell rings.

It takes him a long time to make his way to the door, but when he finally is able to open it after flipping all the locks with shaking fingers, Zayn is surprised to find Louis, Niall and Harry standing there, all with their left sleeves rolled up, grinning like mad and Zayn wants to punch them for looking genuinely happy. He can barely remember what a smile feels like on his mouth, what it's like to not have a weight hanging heavy on his heart every second, like if he tries to just  _breathe_  for a second it's going to crush him. 

 _What's so great?_  he wants to ask, doesn't. When they hold out their arms for him, he gets his answer.

Tattooed on each of their wrists is a tiny  _L_. 

 

 

It takes Zayn a full ten minutes with his face buried in Harry's neck to stop crying and invite them inside. They all sit awkwardly in the sitting room, like they're not quite sure how to function without Liam. Zayn understands all too well.

"D'you want us to stay?" Louis asks in a low, level voice, like he's trying not to scare off a baby deer.

"Yeah," he says quietly, head still wrapping itself around the fact that Liam' note is in his pocket and he hasn't read it yet. "Gotta take a piss first, though."

When he's finally in the bathroom he slams the door shut and presses his back against it, heart going a million miles a minute and he's scared that any second now it's going to just stop.

With shaking fingers, he pulls it from his pocket and slips it from the envelope, unfolding it and smoothing it against his leg. Something small and square slips out - Zayn leans down to grab it, lips quirking up the tiniest bit at the picture. It's one he's never seen before, probably something recent from Liam' phone. In it, they're in bed, Zayn's chin resting on Liam' chest, lips pressed fondly to his collarbone and Liam is holding the camera out and grinning, all shaggy dark hair and tanned skin and bright eyes and Zayn knows at once it's how Liam would want to be remembered. 

 

_Zayn,_

_I'm writing this while you're downstairs washing the dishes and I'm curled up in bed. Our bed. I don't like the thought of leaving it to just be yours - I've always been a greedy bastard, haven't I?_

_I don't know if you're reading this while I'm still here or if I'm already gone, but I kinda hope it's the latter because the other is just too embarrassing._  

_I'm really scared, Zayn. And I know you're scared too but I am really, really fucking scared, and the intention of this letter wasn't to make you feel bad or anything but it just dawned on me that I'm writing a letter for you to have after I die, which is going to be soon, I think. And that's scary. But the scariest part isn't dying, exactly. It's leaving you behind. Don't wanna leave you behind to fend for yourself._

_I have to say this now, though, because it's too hard to talk to you about in person. Try to move on? Like, I'm not asking you to go out and get laid the second they've lowered my casket into the ground, but. Just don't stay in bed for weeks on end. Or do, if that's going to help. Just make sure to eat and shower and feed Bruce. Don't do anything stupid. Keep in contact with the boys. They love you, you know._

_Before I forget - go give Bruce a cuddle for me, because I love him, too._

_You said I was brave, but you're the bravest person I know. I love you, I love you, I love you. I've loved you since the day I met you and I will love you until I die and maybe even after, if there is an_ after _, you know, ~~besides rotting in the ground with maggots crawling out of my eye sockets. Is that too much?~~  Sorry, got a little carried away._

_It's just, I can't stop thinking about dying. I'm not scared, except that I am, but I'm curious, because what's after that? Peter Pan was always going off about how dying must be the biggest adventure of all, but I'm not so sure. What if there isn't an after? What then?_

_You probably expected this to be some horribly sentimental letter with me expressing my undying love for you, which it will be, but not yet. Oh, and now you just walked in on me writing this. Nice. I'll have to continue again later._

_Okay. So it's morning now and I'm going to finish this dumb thing. You're not wearing a shirt and I can see all your dumb tattoos. Here's a secret: I'll tease you for it till my dying day, but your wolf tattoo is one of my favorites. You look hot, by the way. You're making breakfast. Egg on toast. My favorite. I hope you don't get offended if I don't eat much of it - it's nothing against your cooking, love, I promise. Dying just makes doing other basic things kind of hard. I don't want to die. At least, I think I don't._

_I'm gonna miss you so much, though, and you know what? Fuck it, even if there is no_ after _, I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you forever and ever and ever and now I'm really kind of sad, because I don't want you to throw your life away after I'm gone._

 _I love you. I love you. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you_   _I love you I LOVE YOU I want to wrap you in a blanket made out of my love. Here, I made you this sweater. It's made out of my tears. Haha! I hope you get the reference. If you don't, my love for you just decreased a little bit. Don't worry. I still love you so much it feels like I'm going to explode with it sometimes. Can't handle how much I love you, didn't know I could love someone this much._

_Thank you. Thank you for changing my life, for teaching me how to love myself and being there for me when I was at my best and my worst. Thank you for putting up with me, thank you for moving in with me, thank you for making me egg on toast every morning, thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for being my home away from home since day one. Thank you for being someone I can trust, someone I can love unconditionally, and someone who loves me unconditionally in return. Because of you, I believe in soulmates. I might guide you, but you keep me anchored. God. We really are a couple of saps, aren't we?_

_I hope you and the other lads make more music sometime. I know you said you wouldn't without me, but I wouldn't be offended. I hope you sell a million more albums and then some, I hope you go on tour again because I know how much you all love performing, and I hope it reminds you of me. In a good way. Everything reminds me of you._

_If you do fall in love again, as many people do, just do me one favor. Don't let it be Nick. That's literally all I'm asking._

_Also, don't cut your hair. Ever. Or do, if that makes you happy. Just want you to be happy. Want you to smile, Zayn._   _You're a good person, a really good one. You can do a lot of good things for some good people, Zayn. You can move mountains, still the seas, change lives. I hope you take advantage of that._

_Maybe I'll see you again, in another life or something, where I'm the waves and you're the shoreline. There's some sappy quote about that, but I can't quite remember it. Look it up, you lazy bum. Maybe I'll see you again, when I've disintegrated and become part of the stars and you have, too, but even then I hope it's not for a long, long time, after you've lived your life in full and traveled and experience everything all over again and then some. After you've become a father and a grandfather and maybe even a great grandfather, with all that dumb health food you like. After you've seen all you've wanted to see and done everything you've ever wished to do and made number one on People's 'Sexiest Men Alive' list._

_I can't wait to hear all about it._

_Always in my heart, Malik._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Liam_

Zayn's not crying, except he is, and he's sad and aching but he's so, so fucking happy. 

Opening the door, he steps out into the hallway. From downstairs, he can hear Niall laughing ridiculously at something and Harry shushing him, Louis groaning in defeat, the sounds drifting up the stairs and curling around him, dragging him closer. It feels a little like home. A new beginning.

Zayn presses his fingers sharply into the imprint of Liam' heartbeat on the back of his neck - like Liam, out of sight but never out of mind. 

With Liam' letter tucked safely in his pocket, Zayn turns his face towards the sun and heads downstairs.

 

 


End file.
